It was in the Base Veal that Deuceace took his lodgian, at the
Hotel de Bang, in a very crooked street called the Rue del Ascew;
and if he'd been the Archbishop of Devonshire, or the Duke of
Canterbury, he could not have given himself greater hairs, I can
tell you. Nothink was too fine for us now; we had a sweet of rooms
on the first floor, which belonged to the prime minister of France
(at least the landlord said they were the premier's); and the Hon.
Algernon Percy Deuceace, who had not paid his landriss, and came to
Dover in a coach, seamed now to think that goold was too vulgar for
him, and a carridge and six would break down with a man of his
weight. Shampang flew about like ginger-pop, besides bordo,
clarit, burgundy, burgong, and other wines, and all the delixes of
the Balong kitchins. We stopped a fortnit at this dull place, and
did nothing from morning till night excep walk on the bench, and
watch the ships going in and out of arber, with one of them long,
sliding opra-glasses, which they call, I don't know why, tallow-
scoops. Our amusements for the fortnit we stopped here were boath
numerous and daliteful; nothink, in fact, could be more pickong, as
they say. In the morning before breakfast we boath walked on the
Peer; master in a blue mareen jackit, and me in a slap-up new
livry; both provided with long sliding opra-glasses, called as I
said (I don't know Y, but I suppose it's a scientafick term)
tallow-scoops. With these we igsamined, very attentively, the
otion, the sea-weed, the pebbles, the dead cats, the fishwimmin,
and the waives (like little children playing at leap-frog), which
came tumblin over 1 another on to the shoar. It seemed to me as if
they were scrambling to get there, as well they might, being sick
of the sea, and anxious for the blessid, peaceable terry firmy.

After brexfast, down we went again (that is, master on his beat,